


Faramir's Fellowship Fables

by MAJR



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:56:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MAJR/pseuds/MAJR
Summary: Faramir's journey with the Fellowship of the Ring





	1. Chapter 1

“Alas! I feared my dream would lead to ill tidings and so ill tidings have I found. The Nine are abroad and slipped beyond the guard of my people, a grievous blow is the betrayal of Saruman, and now you tell me that ring is the One He lost long ago. That I should live to see such times!”

The Lord of Rivendell turned to the man and gestured to the assembly “Speak your piece man of Gondor.” 

“I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor, and I come on personal errand. Puzzling have been my dreams of late. First they came on the eve of battle in the ruins of Osgiliath, before we were driven west of the river by the host of Mordor, and twice since the same dream has come. In this dream a voice spoke to me and passed unto me riddle that none of the wise within our city could solve. Thus the voice spoke:

‟Seek for the Sword that was broken:  
In Imladris it dwells;  
There shall be counsels taken  
Stronger than Morgul-spells.  
There shall be shown a token  
That Doom is near at hand,  
For Isildur's Bane shall waken,  
And the Halfling forth shall stand”

All the wise in Gondor knew for certain was that Imladris was known as Rivendell in the common tongue. The rest was mystery to all, and though I had guessed as to the nature of part of this riddle never did I guess the horrible truth, but now all is clear. That this token would be Isildur’s Bane, that it would be the very ring He lost long ago.”

He bowed his head and sighed deep.

“Were my father or brother here in my stead they would say this were a gift, a sign of fortune to turn the tide; that we should use it against he who we do not name and restore the lost might of our land, but they are not me and I feel no fortune and see no hope in this. All I feel is despair and fear for what is to come.”

“There is hope yet Faramir, and fortune too, of a kind.” Gandalf took the floor. “It was fortune that saw the ring fall into the hands of Bilbo all those years ago, and fortune that it should come to us now. The Ring was found before the Dark Lord could reclaim it, and it was hidden from him, and now it has come here and he will know fear as long as he does not hold it. We must destroy it, and by doing so we will cast down the Dark Lord and throw off his shadow forever.

And there too is hope in your vision, for the Sword that was Broken is here in Imladris, and the Shards of Narsil can be re-forged, for there yet lives an heir of Isildur.”

Faramir morosely shook his head.

“The line of Kings ended long ago Mithrandir. The last King of Gondor rode to Minas Morgul and all knowledge of him was lost. The fate of the Kings in the North I know not but long have we suspected they perished with Arnor and the broken realms that followed. There is no hope left in the line of Isildur.”

“The line is not yet broken.” Strider stood before Faramir and withdrew from his sheaf the broken sword he carried. “I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dúnadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil's son of Gondor. Here is the sword that was broken!”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

 

At once Faramir appeared from the trees. He stood motionless for a moment, his eyes never straying from the Hobbit, until at last he spoke.

“I would offer you council, if you would hear it.”

Frodo withdrew and clutched his hand about the chain which carried the Ring. He shook his head.

“I fear you would ask what I cannot give.”

Faramir advanced a few steps and Frodo frantically looked around for a path to escape, but the man of Gondor halted several feet away from the Hobbit and fell to his knees. He looked the Ringbearer pleadingly.

“I have been your friend these past months, Frodo, and it is as your friend I offer you council now. I ask again, will you hear it?”

Still Frodo hesitated. His grip on the Ring tightened.

“…I will, though you may not like my choice thereafter.”

“I expect nothing less.”

Then Faramir bowed his head and sighed before once more fixing his gaze upon his companion.

“The Fellowship was broken long ago. You must know this. It failed when Mithrandir fell into the abyss in Moria, and we have wandered blind ever since. Aragorn seeks to lead us but he is torn between his heart and his honour. His heart would lead him to Minas Tirith, to claim the city as his own, but he is honour bound to follow you and the burden you carry to its end. These two purposes pull him apart and cripple him in indecision.”

He turned his gaze south where, somewhere beyond the roaring falls and down the thundering river, his homeland stood as a white beacon against the gathering storm. At last he shook his head and spoke once more to Frodo.

“For my part the journey of this Fellowship will end when we depart this place. I must return to my city, I have been too long away and duty calls me home, but this is my council to you. Whatever path you take, I beg you; do not bring the Kings Bane to Gondor! It does not please me to speak ill of my people but I know that should you and your burden pass the gate of the white city you would never leave, and that which you hold in keeping would be taken from you, by force if necessary, and it would bring ruin to my people.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Eowyn turned in anger upon the man, and tears of frustration at her plight fell unhindered upon her pale cheeks.

“Do not speak to me in pity, lord! I am but one caged bird of many and pity will not sooth my heart.”

Faramir drew back in surprise.

“Pity? Nay! It is not pity, my lady, which leads me to you. We are kin in misfortune. Trapped here powerless while others decide our fate in battles far away with only the worry of what is to come.”

His words did not sooth her wrath.

“You mock me, lord! Your words are cruel jest! ‘tis only wound that keeps you here, yet wounds will heal, while I am left behind for the fault of being a woman and can seek no comfort in heart nor battle.”

A sorrowful smile crossed his face and he took her hand in his and held it gently. 

“Your worth is greater than you measure. In time, my lady, you may see that.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

With some lingering pain from his wounds still hindering his movement Faramir struggled to saddle his horse for the journey. Distracted in his labours as he was it was some before he noticed that he had been joined by another.

The Lady Eowyn stood silent and watched him in his work. He looked to her and admired the way she looked in the pale light of dawn, and not for the first time did he feel envy of Aragorn.

Burying that feeling and thinking the worse of himself for it he turned back to finish his labours.

“Too long have I been idle, and I can no longer bare it. I must go with my companions, I must walk the Paths of the Dead with my King, or else my honour is nothing.”

Eowyn surged forward and desperately grasped as his shoulders.

“I beg you, lord! Faramir! Do not go by that path! None who travel that road shall be seen again by the living!”

He gently remove himself from her grip and shook his head.

“I must. I must follow my King whither his paths will lead, should that be even to the fires of Mount Doom itself, if he would have me.”

With some effort he climbed into his ready saddle and glanced down upon the woman he had come to care for.

“Should we meet again, my lady, then I pray that you will look more kindly upon me.”

Then he rode out into the waning night in pursuit of the company of the King while she stood and wept in the gathering mist and there remained long after he had disappeared from sight.


	2. Chapter 2

“Flee! Flee for you lives! Seek your doom whither you can for Gondor is lost! Betrayed! Cast aside! Abandoned! Beset by foes on all side with no hope for respite! The Red Eye has turned its gaze upon us and all is left is despair. So falls the great city of Minas Tirith! So falls the realm of Gondor!”

The lords and knights of Gondor could only watch in horror. The weight of Denethor’s words fell heavy upon them and all felt the cold grip of fear clench their hearts. All was lost!

“Enough! Father!”

The words echoed across the hall and all eyes turned towards their speaker.

Boromir had come!

Armless, and ragged, still pale from his fever, yet there was steel in his voice and fire in his eyes.

“Cease this madness! You are needed now more than ever in this, the darkest hour of our people. How can you turn away from the duty you have so well born all these years?”

Denethor regarded his eldest son with a mocking look of pity.

“You know not of what you speak my son. You have not seen the truth, as I have. All hope is gone, swallowed by the darkness. Rohan is not coming and there are black sails on the Anduin! The last hour of our people has come, and all that remains is chose where we die.”

A look of horror crossed Boromir’s face as at that moment he realized how far into madness his father had fallen, but soon it gave way to true pity for the fall of one he had held so dear.

“You speak the truth. I do not see as you do, I was not granted that gift as you were, and I have often envied you this, but today I no longer feel that envy. I pity what you have become. You have been so blinded by thoughts of the future that you cannot see the present; you have lost yourself in your own foresight. Never more have I felt the absence of Faramir than I do this day!”

The Steward recoiled, as if stung, and hissed at his son.

“Do not speak that name to me! Had you done you duty as ordered he would be here now! Oh! Faramir! My son! Lost and laying in a foreign land! Never more to see the lands of your kin! Soon I shall be with you, as death’s cold hand takes hold.”

“Ha!”

Boromir let out a laugh, then crossed the hall and stood before his father’s chair and looked down upon the wretched man.

“Dead? Nay, Faramir is not dead! I know this in my heart! He lives still! My brother will return, and the bells of Minas Tirith shall welcome him home!”

Denethor looked up at his son in a stupor. It seemed to him that a new light has come to the younger man’s face that, even in the darkest hour with the host of the Dark Lord at the gate, was as bright as the dawn.

“’Tis true I do not see as you do, but I see in different ways, and where you see only darkness there is light for me! I have been weak, and in fever, but I am renewed while you, who have ever been strong and steadfast, are bowed and broken”

Boromir reached out and took from his father’s unresisting hands the Horn of Gondor that had been taken from him after his wounding at Osgiliath. 

“If the Steward loses faith then what hope is there for Gondor? Even if in his heart he can see no hope then his duty must compell him to seek it, for where else can Gondor turn? “

Then he turned and looked towards the door that led to the plateau of the citadel. Then he gazed back at his father once before marching towards the door as he spoke to the hall. 

“You speak of despair? Despair dwells in the hearts of all men, a sliver of fear that can claim even the mightiest and noblest of hearts, but I feel no despair today! You speak of hope lost? Nay! Father, there is hope still while the White Tower stands!”

The doors burst open before him and the lords of Gondor followed in his wake, leaving the Steward in the dark and empty throne room, alone.

The sounds of the battle carried high above the city, and the cries of the Nazgul and their fell beast filled the streets with terror, as a warm and decaying air blew from the east, filled with smoke and ash turning the skies seemingly to permanent darkness.

Even now the Lords of Gondor hesitated, even now they were held back by their fears, but Boromir strode undaunted out of the chamber, his head held high with pride and purpose.

At last he stood upon the ledge that over looked the city and breathed deep, feeling, even tasting, the fear and despair that reigned upon the city. 

“Rise! Men of Gondor! To arms! And fear no darkness! A storm will break upon this red day, and thunder will rise in the valley! The clouds will clear and dawn will break the darkness! Take heart! For as long as the White Tower stands then the darkness will be broken and the sun shall rise!”

His voices bounced and echoed off the walls of the city, and men looked up to see their great captain, still living, still strong, and hope filled their hearts.

But the shrieks of the Nazgul turned that hope quickly to terror as two winged riders of the darkness turned to meet this new challenge.

“You fear the end has come but, my people, I tell you, do not heed that fear! This future of dread days and darkness will not come! I have seen it! The White Tree will bloom again in the light of a new dawn as the new age comes to pass! Gondor will stand as long as her people stand with her! Fear not the darkness!”

As two of the winged terrors descended upon him the Captain of Gondor raised his horn to his lip and let loose a call so clear and strong that it was said that could be heard as far away as Cair Andros.

The winged beasts of the Nazgul turned away in terror at the sound and fled, driven senseless with fear, back to the east from whence they came.

Then a streak of lightning broke near the Great Gate, as if it came from the city itself, and a roar of thunder rolled across the Pelennor Fields, then came in answer the clear cry of a horn, at first one then many, and thunder of a different kind rumbled in the valley as the Rohirrim burst upon the battlefield, and the ground turned green as the dawn chased the Horse Lords into battle and drove away the darkness.

At last they had come! And Gondor rejoiced, its people renewed, as the Rohirrim sang for the joy of battle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this vision in my head of how to change the Battle of Pelennor Fields with Boromir still in Gondor, and much of this came to me as I was dozing late at night on the edge of sleep. I'm quite pleased with it, though it is a bit of a jump ahead and I probably rushed the ending.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not intended as a cohesive a-to-b-to-c kind of story, and it's not plot driven, it's just intended as snap-shots of how the story might have played out in the Lord of the Rings if Faramir had been sent to Rivendell instead of Boromir.
> 
> I may add other scenes later, should I write more.


End file.
